


The Dangling Conversations

by nbarker1990



Category: Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They commiserate. They touch. They laugh. And sometimes they talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangling Conversations

“Hey, you alright?” Blake takes hold of her arm, calloused fingertips cool on her flushed skin, and leads them to a quieter corner of the room. It’s not intimate, not private, with all these people around them, but it’s close enough, and it makes her a little nervous if she’s honest with herself. He’s intimidating with his size and his personality and the way he walked in the room this morning, head held high, and just told his truth. She’d been trying to hide from it, wondering how long it could be kept secret, and he… Well, he’d been brave.

“Of course,” she replies, probably more forcefully than necessary. “Of course.” 

 _Nice work, Gwen. Because repeating yourself is a sure sign of intelligence. Very convincing._ Blake looks a bit skeptical and he’s right to be. She’s not alright, not even close.

“I will be,” she amends, fidgeting with the jagged edge of her top. “I, I was just surprised.”

“So was I,” he admits, and his attempt to grin is so painful, so familiar, that she winces. “Thought this year would be like all the others.”

“And it’s not.” Gwen knows her face is probably pinched, that she’s grimacing, but he doesn’t respond by questioning her again, an interrogation that she’s already gotten many times over during the past few months. He just sighs. And then his arms are around her, her face tucked into his chest and his chin resting on the top of her head.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers into her hair. And she wishes she could believe him. “You can always talk to me.”

 

 

“I need to talk to you, Blake. Please.” There’s an urgency in her plea that she’s feeling deep in her bones, a restlessness that she thinks she might just be able to ease with a conversation. Just with him, though.

“Of course,” he says, his face still stricken, his posture stooped. He’d arrived at her chair like he wasn’t sure how his steps had gotten him there, and honestly, it had been a shock. Even since he’d announced his divorce, he’d acted fairly normally, even off-camera: jovial, warm, engaged. But this… It horrifies her, because he’s not meant to be like this. He’s light.

“My trailer?” He hasn’t been in it before and it’s not like it’s full of secrets or anything, but it still feels a little bit like she’s giving away something of herself by asking him in there. “Just a few minutes. I just – I need to tell you something." 

They sit side by side, legs and shoulders barely touching. And she finds she can’t speak. He nudges her, a gentle little bump, and she finds the corner of her mouth turning upwards. He’s always had that power and she’s never been more grateful for it.

“Me too,” Gwen eventually says. “The divorce thing.”

His eyes dart to her, wide and sympathetic. Not surprised, though. “Five affairs in four years of marriage for my lovely bride. I could almost admire her energy,” he offers, laughing bitterly. Looking down, she finds his hand on her knee, and for the life of her, she can’t remember that happening. It’s nice, though. “Did he - ”

“The answer to whatever that question was going to be is probably yes,” she admits, cutting him off. “I just, y’know, I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”

 

 

“I’m used to being alone, to him being gone, but it’s different somehow. I guess cos I know he’s not coming back, maybe?”

Blake’s fingers are tracing small circles on her back, lulling her almost to sleep as they sit in his trailer, watching the hours go past. She has nothing to go home to and his offer of a drink, something to eat and a chat (only if you want to) had been scarily welcome. 

“How about you?”

“We spent more time apart than together so it’s not too weird, the being alone thing. Occasionally, though, I’ll wake up and turn over and realize I’m never going to see her beside me again, y’know. That’s weird. Cos I’d thought – Well, I was naïve. I know that now.”

“I was worse than naïve.” 

She’d assumed that the anger would sustain her longer, the righteous fury over Gavin’s affairs and attempts to cover them up. But sitting here, what she feels most is embarrassment. Blake hadn’t know her history like everyone else, and enlightening him – even briefly – over the past two days has been an exercise in hating her decisions.

“Maybe it’s more loneliness than aloneness. Dunno. Words were never my strong point.”

Blake raises an eyebrow, his fingers changing course, unerringly finding her face, cupping her jaw. “I’ve heard some of your songs. You have all the right words. All the good words.”

 

 

“Words don’t fuckin’ matter when your actions say otherwise, Ran. Chrissakes!”

She knows she shouldn’t be listening, should be moving swiftly in the other direction. But her feet are rooted to the ground, had been so since the moment she’d heard Blake’s voice uncharacteristically raised, angry from the back of the lot. 

He’s pacing, his long legs eating up lengths of the hallway. Agitated. “No, no. No. It’s done. I told you. You signed, for god’s sake.” A pause, and Gwen can see how tense he is, even from a distance. “It’s way too fucking late. Bye.”

Stepping forward hesitantly, she meets Blake’s eyes, sees the surprise in them, but warmness too. They shutter seconds later, and later she’d swear that he’d been blinking back tears. “No, I’m not saying it back, Miranda. Please don’t call again. I can’t - ” Huffing a choked laugh back, he shrugs his shoulder, shoots her a wry, weak smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You heard?”

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t ask her for a hug, doesn’t tell her he needs her, but the way his arms wrap around her and he burrows into her neck, his whiskers rough against her skin, is enough. Both of them are physically affectionate people, she knew that from the first time they’d met a year ago now. This is more, though. “You always make it better,” he mumbles under his breath, and she wonders if he realizes he said the words out loud.

 

 

“Worst,” he says, pointing towards Adam, laughing when his friend sticks his tongue out in response. “Better,” Blake continues, reaching out a long arm and poking Pharrell. “And best,” he ends, standing up in front of her chair and bowing down to her.

She ducks her head, feels her face warming at his clearly sincere words. He always does this kind of thing, says stupid, sweet, lovely things about her, even to her. They’re not just lines, either. Last night he’d sent her an email, one of many they’ve exchanged this week, with two simple lines in it.

“Your smile is beautiful, Gwen. If I could be guaranteed that in my life every single day, I don’t think I’d ever stop smiling either.”

They’re not flirting exactly now, she doesn’t think, but even she’s noticed that the more time they talk, the less they talk about their exes, the less they wallow in their respective shitty divorces. And that feels crazy good. It’s freeing, like being reborn somehow into this new life, a life where a cowboy is suddenly the one person in the world who _gets_ her more than anyone else.

“Hey Blake!” Adam calls. “Feeling neglected over here.”

Laughing (and she’s learning his laughs, strangely enough, noticing them in a way she’d never done before), he walks over to the other man’s chair, leans right in so he can plant a kiss on Adam’s forehead. “Sorry, buddy. I know it’s hard when the love of your life moves on. What can I say.” 

And then she’s squirming in her own chair because oh god, he’s approaching her and he’s kissing her cheek (and she swears he lingers) and even when he sits back down, she can still feel his lips pressed to her skin.

That night she gets another email.

 “Your eyes are beautiful too. They tell me everything I know you never will.”

  

 

“Tell me,” she urges. “Just tell me.” She’s pretty sure she sounds desperate, needy, but today has been insane. From the moment they’d arrived this morning, minutes apart, they’d been something different, an unsettled mood between them. Maybe it had been prompted by their late night texts (when she’d sent him a selfie of her tucked up in bed, she’d found herself wondering if it were possible to die of embarrassment) or maybe it was something completely different. She doesn’t know. 

She’s certain, though, that he’s feeling it too – the odd tension, the way they can’t seem to stop catching each other’s eye. Pharrell had stopped her at the door of her trailer during their lunch break, had looked at her with concern in his soulful eyes. “You’re being careful?” She’d pretended to not know what he was talking about, but the words had been a weight on her chest. Because no, she’s being careless, letting herself feel too strongly, want too badly.

“Please, Blake…” Her fingers are clutching his shirt collar and she’s almost pressed up against him, they’re standing so close.

He swallows, and at first, she thinks he’s going to chicken out. But then. “I want you,” he says, all three words coming out in one breath.

They take _her_ breath away, and all she can do is hold on tighter.

“I want to kiss you.”

 

 

“Kissing is underrated,” she groans, hand coming to the back of his head, tangling in his curls and directing his mouth back to hers.

This is the second time, and if she’d known it could be this good, she probably would’ve tried to attack him in his dressing room or something weeks ago. Because god. It reminds her of the early days with Gavin, when they were trying to keep everything on the down-low and when everything was fresh and exciting and new.

Except this is better. Because there’s no niggling doubt about whether she’s the only one who gets to taste him. His mouth, his lips, his hunger are all hers.

And hers are his.

She shudders as his rough fingertips find their way under her top, one hand cupping just under her breast and the other firm on her hip.

“Don’t want to go,” she says, pulling back from him, their lips parting with a wet pop. “Want more of this, of you.”

“Mmmmm, but - ” 

“Don’t like buts,” Gwen growls, unable to stop herself from biting his lower lip. _Because just agree already. Like me as much as I like you._ “You’ll text me, yeah?”

“Course,” he agrees, and she can’t get enough of the way he’s looking at her, like she’s salvation and hope. “And when you get back - ”

“I get more kisses?”

He laughs then, a laugh so completely genuine and happy that she feels her own bubbling up in response. “When did I become the luckiest man on the planet? That’s the real question.”

 

 

He opens the door to her, arms open wide, and she literally throws herself at him, mouth meeting his for a kiss that feels like a homecoming. And maybe it is.

The conversation they need to have can wait.


End file.
